Bay Side Hooligan
by ZiggyKathrin
Summary: With the Avengers split and Captain America on the run, an unlikely hero emerges. The Boston asphalt shapes her into a fierce ally, but who will get to her first. As her best kept secret suddenly washes ashore, she needs to put her trust in someone, will a damaged soldier finally find what he's looking for? Grab your baseball bats and jerseys kids, this Hooligan just showed up.
1. Chapter 1 - Dirty Old Town

A boat taps gently against the dock, the vessel looks weathered, dirty and the sails worn. A girl sits at the stern of the sailboat, her feet lazily grazing the surface of the water, she leans her head against the railing. Her rusty, red coloured hair lightly tosses as the ocean breeze brushes against her face. She pulls a half finished cigarette to her lips and takes a drag, smoke leaving through her nose. The boat rocks slightly, the sounds of footsteps coming near, she pulls her feet from the water and begins to hug her knees. She turns her head to look up at the approaching person and smiles.

"Meara, I thought you quit that shit," says a boy with blonde hair, looking down at her with a frustrated glare.

Meara rolls her eyes, takes a final drag and puts out the smoke in a corroded coffee tin. She props her elbow on her knee and sarcastically slaps her face in her hand. She looks up at him blinking. "I know you're just gunna want one after a couple of those," she gestures to the beers he's holding. Her oversized sweater falling off her shoulder and pooling at her elbow. He huffs and shoves one towards her, she graciously takes one and begins to sip at it, head turning back out to look at the water.

"For someone who is so afraid of the ocean, it's weird that you always hangout on your dad's boat," the boy nags, he began peeling at the label on the bottle.

"I'm not afraid of the ocean Travis," she says mockingly "Salt water just fucks with my skin,"

Travis sighs and leans up against the side of the boat's cabin. "Then you really love savin' sea creatures, always putting your health at risk when you go on a mission with us," His Boston accent heavy on his tongue.

"It's not like that. I stay on the boat, pull you guys up, watch out for the coast guards." She says shrugging between each break. "I care about the animals just as much as the rest of our radical team, I'm just not swimming is all," she turns back at him with a smile and another swig of beer.

Travis returns her smile, "Well, I have a solo mission for us if your up for it?" eyes wicked with excitement.

"Oh really?" she turns around fully, crossing her legs.

"Heard a couple rumours about O'leary's fishing boat," he leans in a little, voice growing softer. "He cast out his net late last night and doesn't pull it up until Tuesd-"

"But that's three days from now? He's going to catch more than cod in that net," Meara interjected.

"Exactly my point. He apparently always catches sea turtles in 'em and sells their shells later at the market."

"Ugh what a dick,"

"So what do you say? Wanna join me on this one? His boat's only a twenty-two footer and Connor thinks the team that decides to cut his net should be small. Like me and you small," he said while pointing to Meara then him. Meara takes another couple swigs from her beer and eyes him. He seems a little to eager to do the mission, but it would be to dangerous for him to go alone with no eyes above the water. Another cold wind comes off the marina and she pulls her sweater up over her shoulders and hugs herself.

"You're going to go whether or not I come along," she shoots him a quick look. He smugly leans back against the cabin frame. He takes his hat off and runs his fingers through his shaggy blonde hair, making it neater and placing his hat back on his head. Long strands clasping the back of his neck, he motions for a cigarette by placing two fingers to his lips. Meara snorts a smile and tosses him her pack. He lights one up and takes a long drag before giving his rebuttal.

"Well, are you going to come and watch over me angel?" he flirts, giving her a wink as he takes another drag of her stolen cigarette. She blushes, hiding her eyes under her hand and letting out an airy giggle.

"Do I honestly have a choice?"

"No," he looked at her, a smirk spread across his lips. She sighs, either from the look or her predicament, she wasn't to sure.

"Then I'll be there… asshole," she smiles, biting her bottom lip. Travis gives her a big grin, chugs the rest of his beer and tosses the rest of his smoke into the coffee tin.

"Nice, we go out Monday night,"


	2. Chapter 2 - Hot Tea

**So I decided to post this chapter a little early this week! I know theres lots of character building and blah blah but I promise it's worth it! Thank you so much to all that are reading! I hope to hear more feedback!**

 **Also, quick thanks to Calliope's Scribe for the review, I appreciate it lots! :)**

 **Also Also, if you want to listen to something while reading this chapter may I suggest this!:**

 **watch?v=s11BuatTuXk**

 **A lot of my chapters have songs attached to them, and since she is in Boston right now, much of them will be of that caliber**

 **Happy Reading!**

Meara's mind was reeling. She hugged her left shoulder for warmth as the wind rips through her, she shuffles through the cobblestone back alleys of Boston's main streets. What was she doing signing up for a solo mission, she knew better. She runs her fingertips against the aging brick and she sighs, feeling the sharpness of the stone's stubble digging into her skin. Travis was going to be the death of her.

She turns a corner of a skinny alley way and a small wooden gate greets her. It creeks open with the push of her knee. She turns around and latches it as her hair tumbles forward, she tucks it behind her ear to take a final glance behind her. Squinting to make sure no one was there, she turns her gaze to a tall, slender townhome, one light still on in the top left corner. She smiles as she sees the outline of her father, sitting at his desk, busily writing away. Her eyes scan down to the twisted wooden steps and she climbs up to the paint chipped red door, presses down on the iron handle and lets herself in.

"Hey Dad!" She calls up to him from the bottom of the spiral staircase, the heavy door shutting behind her. The stairs are lined with dusty stacks of encyclopaedias, stuffed with loose papers of her father's research. Crooked picture frames with childlike paintings of whales over beaches run parallel up the walls. With no response she could still hear his feet tapping against the floor above her, he must be heavily in thought. She opens the old French doors into the kitchen, they creek at the action. She eyes up the multi-coloured cupboards, the doors warped and some not hanging in the proper places. She pulls one open in search of a mug, seeing them stacked on top of each other causing the shelf to bend in the middle. She pulls one out from under the stack, it reads; _My Dad is better than your Dad_ and she places it on the mosaic countertop. As she places an aging pot on an old coil stove she hears the hurried foot falls of her father coming down the stairs.

"Three … Four, no that's not it," he mumbles, Irish thick on his speech. His back pushes the doors open, "That can't be right." He spins around to face Meara, his shoulder length hair tussled from a long night of thinking and he almost barrels into her.

"Dad!" Meara barks at him, no longer wanting to be ignored.

"Christ!" Her father almost drops his papers in fright. He fumbles to catch them as his glasses descend to the tip of his nose. "Now what are you going and doing that for!" He shoots her an annoyed look. His gaze quickly softens as he sees the state of his daughter. Practically shivering in front of him and eyebrows furrowing something fierce. He knew right away she was thinking too hard on something. "Whats' the matter darlin'?"

Meara rolls her eyes. How her father always knew when she was distressed escaped her, and also angered her. "Nothing," she retorts, her mouth a hard line, eyes now focusing on the pot of water in front of her.

"Yeah, okay," he returns with sarcasm. He places his mound of papers on the counter with a thud, cutting off her access to the sugar cupboard. She whips her head around to glare at him. He raises his eyebrow, a smirk spread across his face.

"I'm not in the mood Dad." She puts much emphases on the d.

"Thought you said nothin' was bothern' you?"

"Nothing was,"

"But now somethin' is?"

"Yeah, now you are!"

"But I did nothin'!?"

"Ugh!" Meara throws her hands up in the air.

"Why are you hidin' somethin' from me darlin'?" Her father asks while placing his elbow on his stack of papers, holding his head in his hand.

Meara turns to look at him, the water reaching its boiling point along with hers. She looks down at the pot, taking the handle and pouring the hot water into her mug. She drops the tea bag in a little too roughly causing splashes of liquid to hit her hand. She hisses and does her best not to wince, trying to scrounge up a reason her now burning hand was her fathers fault. Coming up empty, she stomps to the small, wooden round-table to take a seat. She blows on her tea.

"Whats' the matter Meara?" he says softly, all joking aside now.

Finding comfort in his new tone, Meara eases. All frustration rapidly evaporating as quickly as it came and she lets out a heavy sigh, relaxing into the chair. Her father slowly walks over to the table and takes the seat opposite her. With her head down, she looks up to meet her fathers gaze, his eyes full with worry. She smiles, trying to ease his concern, but falters. Now realizing she has to talk, she takes a quick sip of her tea, and audibly gulps.

"I was on your old boat today, you should really fix it up, it's-"

"Why were you on the docks." Her father interrupts and his gaze begins to harden.

"Because I have two legs and can walk where ever I please," Meara interjects. She eyes her father as if to ask if he has anything else to add. He nods his head for her to continue, she mockingly clears her throat. "Anyways, at the docks-"

"You know it's not safe for you there, were you alone?" He questions. She gives him a look of disbelief.

"Yes…" She trails off. "Well I was but then Travis came and met me-"

"Don't tell me you were havin' one of them meetins'."

Meara sighs, "No, he came to talk and then a mission came up-"

"You're not takin' it." He slams his hand on the table. Meara's anger rises again.

"I'm always safe on the boat dad, I never go in the ocean!"

"I don't care, the water is always unpredictable, you never know when a storm could come in. Besides, doin' that stuff is illegal, I've been lettin' it go for too long. I should've put a stop to it years ago."

Meara pushes herself up from the table and gives her father a hard stare.

"Mom would never have wanted me to stop." The words seem to hit her father as he visible flinches but it only acts as ammunition for Meara to continue. "She never would want me to hide away behind an illness!"

Her father sighs and pushes his glasses up on his nose. "Please Meara, see where I'm comin' from."

"No!" She shouts at him. "You need to see where I'm coming from for once!"

"Please I-"

"Stop. Let me do this, it's the only way I feel normal,"

"Darlin' you are normal, it's just-"

"Enough!" Her brows furrow, her hair almost seems to become more red from her seething temper. "I'm in my twenties for Christ sake, why am I even pretending like I'd listen to you? I'm doing just fine hiding my rotten little secret for you Dad. Don't worry, your job wont get jeopardized 'cause of me. We can keep carrying on like a happy family, and me as your normal little daughter, who is just afraid of the fucking sea!" With that, she grabbed her mug and marches for the stairs to her room. Her father tries to grab her arm to stop her but she dodges, causing warm tea to splash on her sweater. She loudly growls like a child throwing a tantrum, and continues for the staircase.

Her father just sighs as he listens to her heavy foot steps thundering across the ceiling to her bedroom. He slumps back into his chair, rubs his face and runs his fingers through his hair. He stares out the window of his kitchen, looking past the other slim townhomes, trying to catch a glimpse of the moons glow on the ocean. He reluctantly smiles, letting out a scoff.

"She's just like her ma."


	3. Chapter 3 - Leave This World Alive

**Hey Guys! Wow! Some of you have favourited and followed it means a lot :) Once again a thank you to Calliope's Scribe for the kinds words, you make my heart grow! :3**

 **Hope to hear from more of you about what you think! Please review it would mean a bunch!**

 **So this is just a small character building chapter for today, heres a song that I think fits the mood, take a listen - watch?v=tVPTu4l6OnE**

 **Happy Reading!**

Meara slams her bedroom door behind her and stands in the entrance of her room huffing like a child. The ceiling inclines from the circle window, which touches the old, timber flooring. At the base lays a flat day bed swallowed up by blankets and various coloured pillows. She slumps onto it and presses her forehead to the cool, blue stained glass. Their townhouse was the highest on the street and from her window she could see the water perfectly. She eyes the scene, the calmness of the tide making her relax. Her breathing began fogging her view, she traces the outline of a sad face in it and chuckles, realizing how dramatic she is being. She leans her head back against the alcove of the window and scans her familiar room. All the pictures of various sea animals, bands and research companies taped to the walls, overlapping and curling at the edges. Very little wall space remains.

Her rustic, light blue night stand is in front of her and a picture of her family smiles back at her. She takes the faded frame in her hand and with her palm she wipes the dust off the reflection. Her father's hair is much longer in this snapshot, all wavy and windblown. His eyes are looking to his left and a giant toothy grin spread across his face. He looked so young and handsome, no worry lines yet aging his features. His arm was around her mother, tugging her close to his chest. Her mother's brown curly hair was in a tangled afro and her mouth pulled into a wide, flirtatious smile. Her smooth dark skin glowing from the sun, she was so photogenic. Everything about her looked perfect, from her smile down to her yellow sundress. Meara grins at the memory. Her mother had her head angled down to look at a young girl and her eyes appearing closed. Meara's brows furrow. Her mother's eyes had been so bright and blue, she loves looking at photos of them.

She traces a finger over the frozen scene, a wave of melancholy flows through her. She tares her gaze away from her mother to stare down at the little girl. She is an exact mash of the two adults. Red hair from her father with the features of her mother. A perfect combination of both traits, making Meara always want to keep this photo near by. Proud of her parents and herself, even as a gap toothed, frizzy haired toddler. Her father used to always joke about where the little girl from the photo went as Meara got older, but her mom would reply with a sly comment about her being right under his nose.

She returns the photo back to it's rightful place on the night stand, but angles it to face her pillow. She pulls herself onto her unmade bed, the scent of her home filling her with comfort. She gathers up the cold blankets and cuddles herself into the mattress, placing her phone on the night stand. She checks the time, it reads 1:23 AM. She closes her eyes and tangles herself up in her blankets. The picture burning into her memory. Sleep smoothing out her thoughts of Monday night, as she falls blissfully into darkness.


	4. Chapter 4 - The Irish Lady

**Hello Again!**

 **Another song for the chapter I feels fits - watch?v=6SE1QgEhq8Q**

 **Please let me know what y'all think!**

It's late afternoon and Meara is getting anxious about her late night endeavour that is almost upon her. She is already dressed for it, all black save for a navy blue scarf. She paces her bedroom, unsure if she is making the right decision. Her fathers worried face flashes in her mind and she looks up to the ceiling, running her hands through her thick, curls.

"What do I do, what do I do…" she mumbles to herself. Her phone begins to ring, the noise cutting through the drooling silence of her room. She jumps and fumbles for it on her night stand, almost dropping it.

"He-hello," the ringing continues, she curses as she realizes she didn't swipe to answer. She puts the phone back up to her ear. "Hello?"

"Hey angel, you ready for tonight?" Travis' voice fills her ears. Meara lets out a breath.

"'Course, I already picked out my outfit," she says coolly.

"Can't wait to see that," he almost growls into the phone. Meara bites her lip at his tone.

"Easy Tiger," she laughs, "where am I meeting you?"

"My dock, we're taking the Irish Lady,"

Meara stiffens. Travis' boat is old, 1970's old. It doesn't have a working railing and has little room to hide. It's an old rich man's pleasure craft, not ideal for covert missions. The only thing it has going for it is its new quiet engine and size. It's only eight feet long and easy to maneuver in small spaces. Travis feels the pause in the conversation.

"You still there Meara?" he asks. She closes her eyes and licks her lips. Trying to come up with a casual thing to say.

"Yeah, just thought we'd take Connor's boat, carry out the rescue in style. You know your boat clashes with my flair." She furrows her eyebrows at her own response and shakes her head. Thinking he wont buy it, his laugh echoes over the line, causing her tension to ease.

"Ouch, that's my baby Meara," Travis responds, for a second he thought she might chicken out.

"And I'm your angel, I think that puts me above that rusty piece of-"

"Okay okay, stop hating on the Irish Lady," he laughs. "Come over here already,"

"Or what?" she flirts.

"Hmm," he ponders. "Or the sea turtles won't be the only ones needing saving." His voice sounded heavy. Meara falls back onto her bed and twirls her curl on her finger.

"That sounds kinda nice actually," she almost whispers into the phone. She hears Travis' long sigh on the other end.

"Stop teasing me darlin',"

Meara straightens out a bit, she doesn't like when anyone besides her father calls her _darlin'_. If it's not her dad it just doesn't sound right.

"Fine fine, I'm on my way," any hint of desire now missing from her voice.

"Awesome, see you in a bit." Travis hung up. The phone falls from her ear and she crosses her arms over her chest. After a moment, she kicks her feet out to stand eyeing herself in her full length mirror as she poses. She is happy with what she picked, it really shows off her shapely figure. She shoves her feet into some black Nike runners and heads out for the docks.

Meara jogs up the greyed, wooden dock and stops at the helm of the Irish Lady. The words messily painted and wearing from the sun. She can see Travis bent over organizing all of his gear, his shirt raising up on his back and his wet pants hanging low around his hips. She brings a closed fist up to her mouth and coughs for his attention. Still bent over, he twists his neck to see her and a rich smile spreads itself across his face, hair falling in all the right places. She blushes and diverts her gaze. Travis stands and gracefully jumps off the boat to the dock, causing it to sway slightly. Meara's balance doesn't falter as she returns her eyes to him. He brings his hands above his head to clasp an over hanging mast rope, towering over her. Meara cranes her head up and finally offers him a smile back. Travis opens his mouth to say something but no words reach his tongue. She stares at his lips.

"What's the matter?" She questions, knowing that it's her causing his momentary silence.

"Absolutely nothin'," he states to her, pushing forward. He eyes her up, causing Meara's confidence to rise and her breathing to excelerate. "You look amazin'." He compliments.

Meara steps a foot back, forcing him to lean further into her and her hands interlock behind her back, pushing her chest out. "You think?" she flirts.

"I don't need to," one hand lets go of the rope above, and reaches for Meara, returning a runaway curl behind her ear. The sudden touch gives her chills, they run from her spine to her toes. His hand so warm against her chilled ears. He lingers there for a moment, then snakes his hand behind her neck, entangling ringlets between his fingers. He doesn't pull her towards him, instead he lets go of the rope entirely. He steps forward, closing the small bit of distance between them. His other hand comes up to her face, he runs his thumb over her slightly parted lips.

"Travis," his name sounds so sweet coming from her. Meara's hands unravel behind her and travel up to his chest. Resting there, feeling the thump of his rising heart beat under them. His warmth ceasing all shivers she might have had.

"Hmm?" he hums at her. His eyes begin to close, he takes his last steps and braces himself over her. Both hands lost in her wind stricken hair. She leans back slightly at his height, letting out a soft sigh. His lips were right above hers, she could feel the heat from his breath on her own. Her eyes glide shut as she relaxes into him. Her lips brush his teasingly and he lets out a heavy breath before pulling her face to his, mouth crashes onto hers. Her heart aches as the feeling travels down to her stomach. Her hands reach for his soft, blonde strands and gently tugs them. He pulls away from her, letting out a low groan, his forehead resting on hers.

"Keep that up and there won't be a mission," his voice thick with need.

"Doesn't that sound more fun?" she almost pouts, her nails traveling from his scalp to his neck and grabbing onto his collar. His eyes close again, head tilting up.

"Fuck," was all he could muster. Thinking she finally had him, she goes back in for another kiss but his hands are untangling hers from his shirt. "I promise you it wont take long."

Meara sighs, he was really headstrong about this one. "I wouldn't promise a girl that," she jokes at him. Pulling away from him, missing his warmth already. He flutters his eyes open and lazily lets them fall to her face. He lets out a scoff.

"You know what I mean," he grabs her hand. "Come on, it's almost dark."

He tugs her towards the boat and she stiffens. Travis turns back to her, a dark look of disappointment crossing his face.

"Angel, it's going to be fine. Water's calm, sky's clear … there's nothing to worry about,"

"I know," she laughs at her self. "Just pre-mission jitters." He smiles at her and helps her into the boat, she takes her usual passenger seat. He slides into the driver's chair, turns the key and the boat purrs to life. He wraps his arm around her and flashes her a flirty wink.

"We're gonna be heroes tonight," his head turns forward and the boat lurches ahead. Meara returns a smile but she can't seem to shake this sinking feeling.


	5. Chapter 5 - What The Water Gave Me

**Wow so many people are reading this, thanks a bunch!**

 **A thanks to Bitch Ate My Cupcake (Hilarious) for the review, you are wonderful thanks a bunch!**

 **As always another tune to set the mood - watch?v=am6rArVPip8**

They have been quietly floating in front of O'Leary's boat for a few minutes now. Hiding in the new darkness from the lack of sun, the sky above them dark and starless. Travis was putting on the last of his gear, sitting on the edge of the boat and readying himself to dive in. His hand tightly griping an overhanging rope which was tied to O'Leary's fishing net and the Irish Lady. It wasn't the safest way to secure them to the area, but the water is too deep for their anchor to reach the ocean floor. Meara sets a 45-minute timer on her phone. She looks up to his goggled face, worry spreads across it. They have been sitting in silence since they left the docks.

"Stop lookin' at me like that, I've done this a couple of times you know?" he grows a little cocky, liking the way she is fretting over him. It has taken awhile for him to garner even a shred of her attention since they first met.

"I know," she replies a little irritated at his arrogant open mouth grin plastered all over his face. "just a long time to be under by yourself."

"The tanks in right?" he jokes to her, she nods in response. "Then there's no problems!" he blows her a kiss, and falls back into the water. Meara rolls her eyes and watches the cord unravel into the dark water beneath her. After a few moments it steadies and she slumps back into her seat, pulling her phone out for entertainment. She reaches her one hand out to grasp the life line, if there is the slightest tug, she'll feel it.

As the minute's tick by she tosses her phone to the seat next to her. The new steady rocking of the ship mixing with the small text on her phone causes her head to ache. She leans against the leather seat and stares up to the dark sky above, searching for sparkling lights to entertain her. She furrows her eyebrows at the sight. There were no stars which means clouds. The thought making her tense up. The boat begins to rock a little more, she leans forward, squinting at the horizon. She can't differentiate the water from the sky, it's all black. The wind comes off the water in a cold, rough gust and she could feel the heat in the air around her rise. She begins to wring her hair out in nervous anticipation, feeling the soft edges under her fingers she looks down. Her hair is growing frizzy from the gradual change in temperature.

"Shit," she curses to her self. She grabs her phone, it reads 9 minutes left. A strident wave smacks against the small boat causing droplets of water to hit her phone. She aggressively wipes it clean, placing it back on the seat. She leans over the side of the boat, staring at where the line disappears into the deep blackness, it lazily bobs up and down. The light from his head lamp brightening up the bottom of the boat, no signs of struggling. She sighs in relief.

They were at least 20 miles off shore, right in the heart of fishing territory. Strangely, only O'Leary's boat was out tonight, all the other fishermen vessels had been tied to the docks. Water splashes up the bow, and trickles down the side. She can feel wetness on her cheeks, she hurriedly wipes it away with the cuff of her sweater. The boat begins to sway more aggressively, causing her to balance herself with the steering wheel as it shifts away from O'Leary's ship. It jerks back against the rope they had tied to the net and more water lets itself into the small vessel. Meara hitches her feet up closer to herself to try and escape from the dampness of the carpet, she becomes anxious, the weather was supposed to be fine.

"Come on, come on, come on," she repeats to herself as the boat drifts away, causing the net to be pulled off from the bigger ship and slap back against the side. The Irish Lady sways getting too close, almost touching the opposing ship which was groaning as it tilts from side to side from the new blowing wind. Meara teeters as she stands trying to move back to where Travis' life line was tied, thinking a slight tug would warn him to come up. An unruly wave hits the small boat making it spin around, the bow spinning to face the faraway shore. She falls headlong from the sudden shift, knees hitting the side and she tumbles towards the water. She puts her hands out to catch herself but only comes in contact with icy cold wetness, her stomach bracing her fall on the edge. She scrambles and splashes at the waters surface, throwing her body backwards to fall into her seat. She shoves her hands under her armpits, trying to dry them and feeling the very familiar tingle on her skin. The boat is still mid-turn as she fumbles to dry herself and crashes into the larger looming ship. Her head whips back and she winces at the tight pinch now consuming her senses. She rubs it to try to ease the sensation. The boat hits the other again, jolting her out of her soreness to look for the line attached to Travis. It's pulled tight against the chock, definitely not a good sign. She tries to crawl towards it but the waves crashing against the small boat keep tossing her into the slimy leather seats. The wind picks up violently and blows her hair around her face. The sound of her alarm sings above the loudness of the wind and the angry whitecaps.

"Oh no." Her face goes pale. His air tank will be empty in 5 minutes if he doesn't come up. She throws herself at the knots holding Travis to the boat and heaves her body over the side, staring down to where he should be. The light from his headlamp thrashes about under the glossy water, he was stuck. Adrenaline pumps through Meara's body she yanks on the line but it's unmoving, making only one idea whirl into her thoughts. She shakily takes the scarf off from around her neck and lets it fall to the damp floor of the boat. She warily puts a foot on the side, trying to ready herself to plunge in and she lets out a breath. Before she can jump in, a wave makes the decision for her, causing the boat to lurch forward and she gets thrown from it's wavering safety. Her stomach connects with the icy water. She recoils underneath the surface, all air flowing out of her lungs from the impact. She kicks out her legs in panic but it only forces her further into the freezing depths. Her eyes open wide, watching as the air bubbles rush upwards. Meara coughs for oxygen but only water gets sucked into her airways. She scrambles at her neck as a searing pain scorches through her lungs, she writhes back and forth under the weight of the water. She twists her head back to look to the surface, vision becoming blurred and her thoughts only of air and how to get it consume her. Her movements become slow, breathing now seeming impossible. Her eyes slowly close as she sinks further down, her mind growing blank as she peacefully let's go.

Suddenly her chest heaves, she grabs for her neck again feeling the familiar ridged bump behind her ears. Her eyes fly open as her sight becomes clear, the darkness of the water lighting up. She brings her hands out from her neck, watching as her fingers become webbed and her skin shines as pinkish scales push out from the lines in her skin. Her body temperature rises, all chills fluidly leaving her as the soft current surrounds her. Her feet begin to ache as she feels them grow in size, pushing tightly against the walls of her sneakers. Sudden realization comes to her as she remembers why she was changing. She frantically searches around trying to find Travis, she can see his helmet light some 10 meters in front of her, still flailing about wildly. She kicks off towards it, gaining speed and grace as she cuts through the intense pull from the current of the ocean.

Meara reaches out to slow herself and grabs the net, Travis's back was to her, scrambling to free both his feet from it's slashed clutches. Fish were desperately swimming in all directions trying to get out, one sea turtle caught under the mass of fluttering fins. Travis frantically stabs his knife about, connecting with the metal bottom of the ship. Every movement slowed by the heaviness of the water. She reaches out and grabs his wrist to try to take the knife from his death grip. He whirls around to look at her, his headlamp illuminating her face. She throws a hand up to block the striking whiteness of the light, squinting as it blinds her vision for the moment. She can hear a bubbly gasp come from him, she brings her hand away to try for the knife again, but all she can see is his fearful eyes, wide with horror and panic. She knows she must be quite a sight. He suddenly shuts his eyes, mouth open and gasping for air, his mouth-piece hung desperately to the side. Before she can try to calm him he throws out the knife in all directions, almost connecting with her. She swims back automatically but with too much force. Her head connecting hard with the base of the boat as it dips lower from a violent wave. She goes limp from the impact. Surrounded by overwhelming darkness, the distorted cries from Travis now becoming the soundtrack of her forced dream state.

 **Oh Dear...**

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	6. Chapter 6 - A Special Guest

Meara stands at the worn out, red door to her home and some how it looks unfamiliar. She reaches a hand to grasp the handle, but stops, suddenly not wanting to go inside to face the music. It would be a rotten tune. She takes a step back, her feet ache. The entire walk home was spent listening to Travis' voicemail, not noticing the pain in her changing feet until now. She looks down and flexes them in Travis's boots and sighs. He never ignores her calls but she doesn't blame him, even with this curse of a mutation she wasn't able to help him. He probably cut himself free, no thanks to her, and drove his stupid boat home to tell the whole group about her. She can imagine them all sitting around a fire cursing her name. Even they haven't been trying to get a hold of her. No one but her dad calling her, no one but him really caring if she was okay. Feeling so useless and undeserving of even her father's angry speech he is sure to unload on her, she turns and begins to walk away. Thinking about just staggering into the ocean and staying there, but then she hears the door creak open.

"Meara." Her father's voice cuts the silence like a jagged knife. She stills, frozen in place. Then her eyes start to water, how can her body produce more tears when she feels so dry. She spins around to see him, pulling down her hood and scrambling at the scarf clinging to her neck. It feels more like a noose then a disguise. Finally exposing her face, she looks to her father, though even with her mutation slowly fading from her features, her state is nothing compared to him. He looks like he hasn't slept or eaten since she left him last night. His hair looking more grey and in tangles, his eyes sunken in and a very fierce looking scowl taking over his features. The fact that she is the cause of this makes her start to sob and she runs towards him, never needing a hug from her dad more in her life. She collides with him and he embraces her, scrambling to hold her tight like she might slip through his arms. He clutches her head firm against his chest, murmuring soft pleas for her to quiet her weeping as her tears soak into his shirt. He backs up and tugs her into the house, the heavy door shutting behind them. They stay like this a moment until Meara's cries slowly begin to fade. He reluctantly pulls her away from him, holding her face in his hands and wiping away her tears with his thumbs. He has a sorry look on his face. Meara's brow knots. She is the one who should be sorry, not him.

"We have a guest here," he states shakily.

There it is. Twenty-six years of her fathers' strict security measures falling to the way-side in one night. Because of her stupidity and recklessness, she let herself be seen. Anxiety is building inside of her, her eyes clamber over her father's face trying to figure out any bit of information on who is invading their home. Her nostrils flare as she begins to pant short shallow breaths. The feeling of her fight or flight instincts are overwhelming. She unknowingly grips her father's raggedy, plaid sweater thinking someone is going to rip her away from him. He rubs her arms softly, trying to calm her down.

"Shh, it's okay darlin', no one is gunna take you away," he searches her face for any sign of contentment. "Hey, look at me." Meara's eyes lock with her fathers, pleading for help. "Everything is gunna be okay, alright?" she nods in response. Even though she is ruining all those years her father put in to keep her safe, he forgives her in an instant. His worst fear is coming to light and he tells her, everything will be alright. A feeling of safeness cloaks her. Like a child clinging to her parents when they are afraid of the first day of school. He reaches for her hand and squeezes it as he gently guides her to the kitchen.

Two men, clad in black suites, stand straight, pillaring the sink. They seem faceless. Wearing blank expressions like masks and looking like exact copies of each other, it's very unsettling. Unfortunately for Meara, it's not S.H.E.I.L.D or Stark that has come for her, like her father has expressed fear of, but what she was most nervous of. The government. She sees a man sitting at the table out of her peripheral, her eyes drift down to his hands. He is drinking tea out of her favourite mug, bastard. She turns to face him, looking down her nose trying her best to look intimidating. If this stranger has just found her now, he wont know the full extent of her _powers_. He takes a sip of tea, Meara silently wishes it would burn his tongue, as it swishes around in his mouth. He stands in front of her, she searches his impervious expression for any leaking of information, it's like reading a brick wall. His mustache so thick that it covers his whole upper lip and a fury of creases lines his forehead as if to map out years of hindrances. His hair a salty grey and perfectly coifed, the air of importance surrounding him. He offers her a pitiful bland smile, but it only helps to anger her further. How dare this man, try to ruin the life that her father is constantly trying to keep hidden from men like him. He offers his hand to her and she raises her chin in silent protest.

"You look so much like your mother," his voice rough, a sad memory floating to the surface of his face, giving her something to read.

Grief. Meara's eyes widen.

"Pardon?" shock and disbelief thick in her speech.

"Yes she does," her father's weary tone cuts into Meara's and the stranger's moment. "Meara, this is Thaddeus Ross, Secretary of State." she lowers her chin and finally takes his hand to shake it. The need to ask more about her mother building like peak of a rollercoaster.

"How did you know her … my mother?" she asks hurriedly.

Thaddeus sniffs a chuckle. "We used to work together years ago, me, your mother," he pauses and nods his head towards her father, "and Rowan." He smiles.

Meara looks to her father, his face lethargic but a smile teases the corners of his lips. "Why didn't you tell me this?" she asks her father.

"Confidential." He states, smile fading.

"Nothing is confidential any more," Thaddeus half laughs. "after the fall of S.H.I.E.L.D, Black Widow uploaded files for the world to see, though we tried our best to protect your family's integrity and it unfortunately didn't work." He returns to his seat, gesturing for Meara to sit as well. She takes the seat across from him. Thaddeus continues. "Although, unknown to us Rowan, you had a secret of your own." His eyes never leave Meara.

"I thought it best to keep her safe, so she can lead a normal life," her father answers, deciding not to sit but to stand beside his daughter, hands diving into his pockets.

"Well I'm not here to parent," he sighs, "just to inform you that a family witnessed your … shall I say, transformation along the beach this morning along with a young man contacting the police."

Heat rises to Meara's cheeks, how could she have been so foolish. Thaddeus watches as pink colours her face and quickly juts in to stop the shade from darkening. "No need to worry though, we stopped the distribution of the video, debriefed Boston PD and took over their 'investigation'. _Your_ secret is safe, although your fathers' is in jeopardy. The world is after your old project."

"How did you find us?" Mears asks.

Thaddeus takes another sip of his tea. "When I saw the video, I knew I recognized those abilities." he replies.

A look of confusion runs over Meara's face. She bites the inside of her cheek and leans forward. "Have you seen me turn before?"

"Of course not, your father was very successful in keeping you in the dark." He pauses, "Where did you think you got them from?" his eyes lift to Meara's father standing beside her. His expression hardens.

Meara shifts uncomfortably in her seat, her father keeping secrets from her as well. His arms leave the confines of his pockets to cross in front of his chest, daring Thaddeus to continue with his speech. With no answer coming from both of them, Thaddeus closes his eyes and tilts his head. He lets out a breath in dramatic fashion, opening his eyes slowly to meet Meara's and her father stiffens beside her. Before Thaddeus can open his mouth to find the right words, her father practically throws them at her.

"You got them from your Mother, Meara." A look of regret instantly swims across her father's face. He let Thaddeus get to him.

The words hit her like a train going a hundred miles an hour, almost knocking the air from her lungs. It makes her feel dizzy as she rubs her forehead. Her father puts a hand on her shoulder and it helps steady her. Realization sinks in, she knows what was said, but she needs to hear it again. "What?" was all she could muster, practically breathless.

Thaddeus sighs. "I do hope I haven't crossed a line here Rowan, I naturally assumed …" he trails off leaning back in the chair.

Rowan is still. "I thought it best to keep … certain information from her."

"It _seems_ you kept a lot from me," Meara interjects. Finally finding the courage to lift her head to look at her father. His jaw clenching at her statement, she could tell his mind is reeling. "what … _abilities_ did mum have? What 'old' project is he talking about? Like … this is too much…"

"Your mother had similar gifts," he answers, "which she passed to you in child birth," his eyes darting down apologetically, she knew she isn't going to get much more out of him, which is unfair.

"What about the project?" She continues.

Thaddeus clears his throat, Meara's eyes return to him. "I apologize for anything I might have … agitated. Please let me explain my visit," he looks to Meara, making sure to have her full attention. He does. "As you might have seen on the news, The Avengers unit now runs as a collective unit under the supervision of the United Nations. We call this solution, The Sokovia Accords. Within it, all _enhanced_ individuals, such as yourself, must register under the law of the consensus."

"My daughter, will not, become a soldier for you to throw at internal problems." Her father's tone more serious.

"That is not my point Rowan, don't take my coming here as anything less than friendly. I came here personally to let you and Meara know that the Accords must be honoured." Thaddeus retorts.

"No." Rowan interjects. "You want her wearin' a spangly outfit," he pulls his shirt out from his chest and it slaps back against him, as if to solidify his point. "with a shield and a hammer, flyin' 'round in the sky fightin' bad guys."

Thaddeus composes himself. "The enemies of the Avengers are global threats. By law I simply require her to register so the U.N may track all citizens with superior abilities. She is free to continue to live out her life how she chooses, whether she desires to join initiative or not, is up to her."

"Are you sure you're not here to force her hand?" her father questions.

"Of course not, you know me Rowan, I'm simply here to offer her help in learning about her talents. A safe, free space to fully explore and control them, a program that measures up to professor x's school." Thaddeus answers.

Meara ponders this a moment, the voices of her father and Thaddeus politely arguing over her next course of action stifle, her internal monologue taking over. She fiddles with her hands, noticing the webbing no longer spreads between her fingers.

 _What should she choose? No doubt she has to register or else risk a jail cell, but, could this all be beneficial?_

She picks at the remaining scales on her forearm. _Thaddeus knows about her mother, more than her father willingly shares. Maybe he can tell her more, she is always begging her father to divulge further, but to no avail. Not to mention Thaddeus did say he put a stop to the video from circulating the internet and police, keeping her safe from anyone besides him finding out about her. Coming here personally, the Secretary of State is sure to have a schedule that is full enough_.

She combs her fingers through her hair, squinting at the matted mess, her head beginning to ache from all of the thoughts filling her brain. _Perhaps this is what she should be doing, her mother was working with Thaddeus before she died, it could be her legacy. Maybe she can use them for some insight on her powers, strengthen them. So next time, if someone needs help she could actually do something._ She looks up blinking at the hanging light fixture, wondering what Travis is thinking about her. _Yeah, next time she can save someone instead of failing._

"Travis is the one who saw me," Meara finally speaks, bringing her head back down. Both men fall silent, Thaddeus' eyebrows furrow and her father's hand tightens his grip.

"I assure you Meara, no one besides the three of us know of your gifts. I made sure of that personally." He replies sternly.

Meara sighs. Travis probably finds her disgusting now, or his brain got wiped, guessing just like the poor family and the pigs. This was all her doing and like a knight in shining armor, Secretary Ross comes in to save the day because she is too clumsy to stay hidden. "I'll register," she states firmly. "I'll sign and enter your program."

"Are ya sure darlin'? This isn't something you need to decide right away," her father looks down at her, silently trying to convince her to postpone this rash decision.

Thaddeus cuts in. "Rowan, all we're trying to do here is make the world a safer place, and help those who have been forced to suppress their full potentials."

"It's still a decision she is _free_ to make on her own in time," Her father argues, putting emphasis on the free.

Meara chimes in. "He's right dad, I'm just making the right decision," she looks down while rubbing the backs of her arms. "Travis could have drowned last night and I was no help, even with my … abilities." She scoffs, oh the irony.

"Don't punish yourself," her father consoles.

She sighs. "I'm not. Maybe if you're … enhanced like me, you need to do something. We haven't even figured out the mind thing yet…" she looks at Thaddeus for a strange sense of reassurance. He gives her a woeful smile, seeming like he understood.

"Just don't want ya rushin' into anythin' Meara," her father's voice sounding sad.

"I'm not rushing," she replies. "It's about time I do something. All these years I've been trying to hide when I could have been helping people, like The Avengers do."

"I'm very happy to hear this Meara, your mother would be very proud." Thaddeus nods at her, it gives Meara a weird sense of pride. Although her father frowns at the statement, about ready to interject but Meara beats him to it.

"Thanks," She offers a smile, "but I do have a question." Her voice a little unsteady.

"Of course, I figured you would." Thaddeus takes another sip of tea and wipes his mustache with his hand.

"Uhm, about joining the … program."Her eyes shift about the room and she continues. "I don't think I'm cut out for it, I'm not like Captain America or any of those guys, I'm just some girl from Boston. A punk." once again, mentally hitting herself.

Thaddeus shakes his head while his lips twitch at a smile. "Yes, and Steve Rogers was just some boy from Brooklyn, but I believe you are made for it, just like he was."

She smiles. "I'm willing to try."

"Meara," her father interjects.

"We leave tonight, if of course your up for it?" Thaddeus jokes.

"Really?" Meara scrambles up from the table. "Let me grab my things," _What does someone even take on a trip like this?_

"Meara!" her father yells now, grabbing her arm and shaking her out of her thoughts. "Please think about this, I don't want ya gettin' hurt."

"I'll be there watching over her Rowan, making sure she is safe," Thaddeus offers.

"We all know how well that works out Thaddy," her father practically hisses. Meara misses what was said and grows irritable by his heavy grip on her.

"Dad!" Uncomfortable at her father's tone she shouts, this is a family friend after all. "Please, it's for the best." She unravels her father's fingers from her arm and gives him a stern frown.

Rowan's features soften, her mind is set.

Meara then provides him with a soft smile. "It could be fun, at least it's legal." She shrugs. His shoulders slump in defeat. He can always tell when there is no stopping her from doing what she wants. Meara turns away from her father and rushes to Thaddeus. She shakes his hand again, murmuring words of gratitude and runs up the stairs to her room to gather her things. The sound of Meara's heavy foot falls and shuffling about her room fall on the quiet kitchen

Rowan turns to Thaddeus, his eyes dark and angry. Through gritted teeth he threatens, "If anything happens to her, I'll kill ya." He hears the rustling of the men behind him, completely forgetting they were even there as they close in on him.

Thaddeus chuckles, standing up and straightening out his suit jacket. "Just know that if you try anything, that video might become more difficult to hide than anticipated."

Rowans fists unclench, Thaddeus has to many resources now, but there is still more he can do to keep his daughter safe. There is always something more he can do.


	7. Chapter 7 - An Old Friend

Hey Guys, sorry I have been MIA. I re-released Chapter 6 and did some editing. Please read that before you check out this short chapter. Updates to come!

Rowan sat in the house, alone. The ice in his whiskey glass clinks together loudly in the empty living room. He glances about the blue walls, all of the family photos, Meara's childhood drawings crooked in their hanging spots. The once warm room feels colder without her constant presence. The sound of the rain lightly tickling the living room window is now the sounds consuming the home. The outdated but comfortable furniture already collecting dust without the urge from him to clean since Meara left. He can't even muster up the drive to study his research now that the home lay vacant aside from him. He sighs, looks down at his watch and frowns. Why is Tony always late? He gets up to fill his glass, floor groaning below his feet. He stops when he hears the creek of the fridge door open. Puzzled, he quickly shuffles to the kitchen and furrows his brows. _How did he get in?_

"Make yourself at home why don't ya," he loudly places his glass on the counter, the sound seems to echo.

"Your taste in beer worries me, it's terrible!" A confidently dressed Tony Stark says into the fridge. "But I guess some of us never change, I on the other hand," he spins around to face Rowan, "will take your apology for not having the proper drink ready for me during my visit." He smiles, closes the fridge and waltzes over to the living room couch, stolen peperette hanging from his mouth. He puts his feet on the worn coffee table.

Rowan huffs and follows, sitting in the chair across from a loudly chewing Tony. "You promised me, if I gave you all of my research and worked for you, I would stay hidden. Meara would stay hidden," Rowan's face was dark with fury. "You lied to me Tony,"

"Well I really should have paid you more, your furnishing is very outdated," Tony jokes. The jovial tone in his voice aggravating Rowan.

"Cut the shit Stark." Rowan's eye piercing through Tony's jester mood.

"Okay, relax IRA. S.H.I.E.L.D was compromised, remember _we_ saved the day, what happened with your files was just fallout." Tony quickly retorts, finishing his pepperette.

Rowan claps his hands together roughly and rubs them. "My FAMILY ain't fallout Tony," he says through gritted teeth. "You swore to me if I gave you ev'rythin' you would protect my daughter!" He slowly stands, fists clenched tightly. He's so angry his body is moving for him.

"Okay, I get it. Your mad. I'd be too!" Tony tries to reason, hands up in silent surrender. "You gotta listen to my side though. To Ross you were a ghost. He thought you died and your research with you. I held up my side but S.H.I-,"

"I don't give a FUCK about SHIELD Tony!" Rowan grabs him by the collar of his perfectly ironed white shirt and picks him up out of his lazy sitting position. Throw pillows tumble to the floor.

Tony pats Rowans fists. "Okay, hands of the merchandise there McGregor." Tony raises one if his hands, tiny nano particles comes together to create a red robotic glove. Light flickers in his palm and something whirls awake with a sharp, wind like sound.

"You're gunna use your suit on me in me own home." Rowan hisses.

"Not if you," he points his finger to Rowan's face, "let go," Tony smirks.

Rowan huffs and throws Tony back into the couch, somehow he falls right back to his previous position. Rowan drags his feet into the kitchen to fill his empty whiskey glass. The copper liquid glugs with every passing drop. He bangs the now empty bottle on the counter and silently chugs it back, he smacks his lips, keeping his back facing Tony. "How are you going to keep her safe." He more or less states instead of asking.

Tony gets up and straightens out his now wrinkled shirt. He walks passed Rowan towards the door. "I'll keep an eye on Ross and update you with her progress. She's going to the raft, to train. I believe Ross will try and make her his own 'wannabe' Avenger, I'll put a stop to it." With that, Tony closed the door behind him. He jogs down the steps to his sleek black self driving Mercedes. The door opens for him and he gracefully slides in. "Hey FRIDAY, let's put a bug in Ross' system, give ourselves some updates on 'Little Mermaid' shall we?"

A voice rings out through the car, "On it sir,". The car jolts down the cobblestone back street into the distance. Rowan watches from the rain soaked window.


	8. Chapter 8 - Grey Vents

The flight to the R.A.F.T was long. Turbulent, rainy and scary kind of long. Meara was sweaty and shaky from the helicopter ride there, her knuckles white from gripping her seat like a child terrified of the dentist. When they landed on the interior heli-pad she almost couldn't stand. One of the soldiers offered her his elbow, but she shook her head and gave him a pathetic smile, holding up a hand signaling for him to give her a minute. She lets out a hefty breath and wiggles her toes, bracing herself to stand. Her hair was a windblown mess and her complexion a ghostly shade from fear. She is not a flyer. Once standing, she began to walk like a baby deer to the group, slowly and calculatingly. Secretary Ross greets her with an open hand to have her stand with them.

"Rough flight, but we made it," he smiles at her "I'm very excited to get started on our progress with you, although a good night sleep is in order. Lieutenant Harvey,"

A man wearing all black tactical gear, helmet and goggles blocking his face from view salutes and stands to action. Machine gun sleek against his side.

"Sir," Lt. Harvey responds almost robotically.

"Show Miss Meara to her room." Ross answers. He begins to walk away, back curved and looking at mounds of files in his hands. Meara becomes anxious as she wants to talk with him further about her mother and her father's research and so many things that she couldn't express on the death defying trip here.

"Mr. Ross, sir," he doesn't respond but keeps walking. Meara trots forward to catch up, tripping slightly as she has yet to gain her full composure. "I was hoping, since we couldn't say much on the trip, that we could maybe talk?" He continues to walk; she insists to be heard and jogs up to him. "I just have some questions and-"

Ross cuts her off. "There will be plenty of time for that, not to worry," he shuffles his hand up to 'shoo' her away. She stops dead, eyebrows furrowing and she lets out a snort.

"Whatever," she says under her breath. Her protest fell on deaf ears as he was too fixated on his files and ignoring her completely.

"Let's go miss," Lt. Harvey was about to grab her arm when Meara roughly spins away from him. His hand closes on the ghost of the arm he was to grasp.

"I can walk," she responds. Head in the air, and follows the lieutenant closely beside. This encounter has put her in one of her moods.

The R.A.F.T was a spectacularly boring place. Everything a dreary grey. Grey walls, grey floors, grey air ducts that mimic a busy cities' overpasses. Complicated highways of ventilation that seem to go on forever. She observes the multiple storey high ceilings with mindless curiosity, she follows the tubes back down to eye level. The landing area was cluttered with fighter jets, helicopters and mounds of machinery that Meara couldn't even imagine their purpose. It was loud and foreboding in the main landing area, no sounds of music, birds or waves. Although the whole building itself seemed to shift slightly from the stormy, ocean waters, which gave her an inkling of pleasure in this depressing military hole.

When they arrived at her room after navigating a series of intricate hallways, she frowns. It's a small, also grey room with a tiny circular window as decoration and a single bed. Meara cannot for the life of her remember the last time she slept in a single bed. Lt. Harvey stomps his feet in salute which makes Meara jump out of her newly found melancholy.

"Jeeesus," she rolls her eyes. "Do ya got to do that every time?"

He ignores her response. "Secretary Ross welcomes you to the R.A.F.T. Meal times are 530, 1200 and 1600. You are not to go to any areas marked restricted without proper protocol access." His voice stomping on the line of being a recording. Meara turns around and eyes him, curious to see if he is human or not. She waves her hand in front of his goggled eyes, he does not falter. "You're pick-up time is 0445," he makes a sharp turn to the right and marches down the hall way. Meara is dumbfounded.

"445AM! Are you joking!" she yells down the hallway. The lieutenant just keeps marching away. "Ugh." She sighs and shuts her door, leaning up against it and sliding to the floor. All her bags have been delivered, piled neatly next to her _single_ bed. She begins to bite her nails, chewing nervously. She's beginning to get home sick. The room not only looked foreign but it smelt like bleach and metal. No cozy blankets or smell of tea in the air. She pushed herself up to go through her things, placing them in the white dresser facing the bed. When she sits on the plastic mattress her knees almost touch it. _What has she signed up for, the military?_ She lies roughly back onto the flat pad, arms above her head. She eyes the bathroom area. It's a pristine white toilet and shower both hidden by a foggy, plastic curtain. She sighs again like a child and rolls over to face the cold, concrete wall. She traces it's rutted edges with her newly chewed nails and shuts her eyes. This place feels like a prison. Even though her frustrations keep her mind awake, the subtle rocking of the structure begins to take her to a more colourful dreamland.


End file.
